


Flash A Hungry Smile

by daisysusan



Category: Revenge (TV)
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisysusan/pseuds/daisysusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers through 1.10; An alternate version of the scene where Tyler confronts Nolan about the sex tape, by which I mean "a version in which they bone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash A Hungry Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softly_me](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=softly_me).



> Thanks to Lal for looking this over.
> 
> Title from Flash A Hungry Smile by the Mystery Jets.

“I only made that tape as insurance, because I didn’t trust you,” Nolan says. Before Tyler can react, he presses forward until Tyler’s pinned against the glass wall; Nolan sees his eyes widen and his breath hitch slightly.

It doesn’t read as fear.

“Sickening?” Nolan says, cold and sarcastic, as he presses closer into Tyler’s personal space. He wonders, not for the first time, how Tyler will respond to being called out on a con by the person he was pulling one over on—everyone has a slightly different way of dealing with it. Some people confess, probably hoping that the honesty will win back the trust they lost; others slide and squirm and justify their way out of it— _oh I spoke without thinking_ and _that’s not what I meant_.

And then some people do what Tyler seems to be doing, which is watching Nolan through lidded eyes and breathing a little heavy.

He still has an arm braced on either side of Tyler’s shoulders, looming over him, but then one of Tyler’s hands is curled around the back of his neck and dragging his head down.

Even by their standards, it’s not a particularly kind kiss; their teeth click against each other before Nolan adjusts his head—difficult, given the vice grip Tyler has on him—but even after that, they’re still biting at each other and pressing their mouths together so hard it borders on painful. Tyler drags his teeth over Nolan’s lower lip—using enough pressure that it’ll probably be raw later—and then pulls back so quickly his head thunks against the wall.

“Where’s the tape?” he asks, his somewhere between dangerous and aroused.

Nolan swallows—it’s harder for _anyone_ to think quickly with decreased blood flow to the brain, even a genius—and takes a step back, freeing Tyler from his trap.

It’s kind of a dilemma. On the one hand, he’s never keen on showing his cards like that, but on the other, he’s not going to get anything more out of Tyler _ever_ unless he evens things out between them a bit. You can’t con a con and all that, but if he ever wants Tyler to speak to him again—and when he’s totally honest with himself, he does—then he might as well level with him.

Of course, he’s not really expecting Tyler to grab the laptop and drive from his hands and throw them both into the swimming pool, but maybe he should have been. It’s exactly what he would have done had the situation been reversed, though.

They’re really not so different, him and Tyler. He wonders if Tyler has picked up on it.

(Probably. He’s too smart, and besides, no one can pull a half-decent con without being able to read people.)

Before he’s quite moved on from that train of thought, Tyler is advancing on him, hands in his pockets. Nolan suppresses the urge to take a step back.

“We could have been a good team,” Tyler says, and that’s about all he can take.

“No reason we can’t still be,” Nolan replies, and does a kind of reach-grab-spin-shove maneuver that ends up with Tyler backing towards the house. He presses his advantage until Tyler’s back inside, what would be away from prying eyes if the house weren’t made of glass. Whose shit idea was that, anyway?

“I have to confess,” Tyler says, leering a little bit, “ _Teamwork_ isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh?” Nolan says, probably falling way short of the blasé tone he was aiming for.

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of me tying you to the bed and torturing you until you can’t remember your own name.” Apparently one of them can still pull off blasé, it’s just not him.

Tyler runs a finger down the front of Nolan’s shirt and then shoves him backward; Nolan is slightly ashamed when he stumbles a little. It’s such an obvious play, and he hates that it works on him. Then, of course, Tyler takes a small, calculated step forward and lets his fingers hover over the top button of Nolan’s shirt.

It’s not irresistible, as such, but Nolan doesn’t spend a lot of time practicing restraint, either. Giving in is letting Tyler have the upper hand in a pretty unequivocal way—but he also gets laid. Which is, obviously, to his benefit.

And since Tyler definitely hadn’t come over with the intention of sleeping with him, maybe Nolan should just consider the fact that he’s _definitely_ interested in it now a win.

That’s easily the more fun way of looking at things, Nolan decides as he tugs at Tyler’s shirt until he’s close enough for Nolan to lean down and kiss him harshly. Almost as soon as their mouths meet, teeth clacking briefly, he feels Tyler’s hands close on his lapels and drag him backward.

Through a series of maneuvers that he has to confess, he wasn’t really paying attention to, they end up back on the couch, Nolan kneeling over Tyler’s thighs and kissing him thoroughly. It’s still rough—bordering on painful—but Tyler’s wriggling underneath like he’s looking for friction.

Nolan plans to continue denying it to him.

He stands up, pulling Tyler up with him, and backing towards the stairs. Tyler, as he predicted, follows docily—until he changes his mind partway there, shoving Nolan against the wall and pressing kisses that are more like bites down the side of his neck. It’s going to show tomorrow and Tyler either doesn’t care or wants people to start asking questions that put Nolan on the spot. Probably the latter.

Pushing away from the wall, Nolan feels his body press momentarily against Tyler’s before they’re both stumbling towards the other side of the hall. Tyler’s head hits the wall, probably hard enough to hurt, and Nolan attaches his lips to the skin just under his jaw, sucking hard and biting at it.

Two can play at this game.

Tyler makes a slightly distracted noise of arousal—not that Nolan has any idea whether it’s the biting or the knowledge that he’s going to have to lie about an obvious hickey that’s turning him on.

Moments later, he feels Tyler reaching forward and undoing the buttons of his shirt with practiced fingers. His nails scrape against Nolan’s chest a couple of times, too measured to be accidental but enough to make his breath hitch a little nonetheless. Nolan starts backing away, aiming for his bedroom and dragging Tyler by his half-unbuttoned shirt. He smirks slightly when spreading his fingers so that he can flick one across Tyler’s nipple causes him to hiss.

A few biting kisses later, they’ve made it into his bedroom, and from there to the bed isn’t all that difficult, though spinning around so that Tyler falls backward over it takes a little bit of maneuvering—Nolan distracts him with a kiss and fingers trailed harshly down his back.

“You better not fucking be taping this,” Tyler says as Nolan presses him into the bed.

“Yeah?” Nolan says, because he’s stupidly reckless about more things than just innovation. “I had some fun with that tape before you threw it in the pool.”

Tyler—using leverage Nolan had no idea he could get but, well, _kept boy_ , it’s kind of a given that he knows some tricks—flips them both over and pins Nolan’s wrists above his head. “If you ever pull that shit again, Ross, I will _end you_ ,” he says into Nolan’s ear, so low he’s practically hissing.

Examining the situation with as much calculated detachment as he can muster, Nolan concludes that the best thing to do is distract Tyler by reminding him of how much sex they could be having. To that end, he rolls his hips up hard, careful to put light but discernible pressure against Tyler’s erection—and he watches, feeling a little smug, as Tyler’s face goes momentarily slack.

With his hands pinned over his head, Nolan doesn’t have the slightest hope of actually flipping them back around to be on top, but, well, it’s kind of okay down here. He has power, namely the ability to make Tyler more turned on that he really wants to be; for fun, Nolan does almost the same hip roll again, just with a little more force this time.

“Oh,” he hears Tyler say, inhaling sharply.

But when he meets Tyler’s eyes a moment later, they’re sharp and calculating again. Nolan would be worried if he didn’t think that the outcome was likely to make him very, _very_ happy.

“Will you keep your hands up there if I let them go?” Tyler asks, using the hand that isn’t still thus engaged to run a light, wandering fingernail down Nolan’s chest, which absolutely does not make him shiver.

Nolan smirks lazily, and tries to shrug, though arms pinned over one’s head aren’t the best way to go about that. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “But if you let me move them, you’ll have a lot more fun.”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that,” Tyler says. Nolan raises his eyebrows, but Tyler ignores him and continues speaking. “I could tie them up there, you know. It would be a good way to ensure that you behave.”

That’s a tough choice, Nolan realizes quickly. Having Tyler on top of him, doing all the work and driving him crazy appeals to his inner hedonist, but being tied up, well, it means giving up a lot of control. Mmm, but Tyler getting off _on getting Nolan off_ would be amazing, not least of all because he was so determined to pretend that he didn’t enjoy their previous—encounter.

“If you want to,” Nolan says finally, “Go for it.”

Tyler slips off the bed, digging through Nolan’s closet, hopefully in search of a tie; he’s too comfortable, and enjoying the view too much, to bother moving in any way more strenuous than spinning so that his hands are by the headboard.

And then Tyler starts to strip. He’s not too fancy about it, just unbuttoning his shirt all the way and slipping out of his pants slowly. It’s clear that he’s making an effort to do it in Nolan’s line of sight, though, and when he peels his briefs off and turns around, he catches Nolan’s eye as he stokes himself lightly a couple of times.

Nolan doesn’t even try to hide the jerk of his hips in response.

Moments later, his wrists are tied above his head—tight enough to keep him there but loose enough that he could pull free if he really wanted to—and Tyler’s kneeling over his thighs, grinning a little maliciously. He’s still almost fully clothed; Tyler’s completely naked but there’s almost no skin-to-skin contact.

It would be okay if that changed soon, he thinks, thoughts blurring slightly as Tyler flicks the remaining buttons of his shirt open slowly, letting his fingers drag across the newly-exposed skin on Nolan’s chest.

The contact is just enough to leave Nolan wanting more. It’s heady, especially when he starts unbuttoning Nolan’s pants, slow and confident, but not so heady that Nolan can’t swallow the noise he makes. Tyler, above him, is moving deliberately—he knows what he’s doing in bed—and Nolan finds himself wanting to see if he can make that confidence waver. He closes his mouth deliberately, and focuses on keeping his hips still (difficult, given that Tyler’s hands are trailing all over him as he removes Nolan’s pants.

Not looking down at what Tyler is actually doing helps a bit, but Nolan can still feel his pants crumpled around his knees and Tyler’s fingers running lightly up and down his dick. He desperately wants to let his hips roll upward, force Tyler to increase the pressure; the only thing he wants more than that is to see Tyler get frustrated by not getting what he wants.

And what he wants, right now, is to have power over Nolan.

After what feels like about a year of just teasing fingers, Nolan opens his eyes and looks at Tyler.

Okay, wow, he may have already gotten what he wanted there, because Tyler’s eyes are wide and dark, and his cock is red and hard against his stomach, the tip slightly shiny. His grip on Nolan tightens, and before Nolan thinks to stop himself, he’s let out a hoarse gasp. In response, he feels Tyler grind his erection down against his leg, hard and probably a lot closer to desperate than Tyler wants to appear.

Nolan resists the urge to squirm until Tyler’s grinding against his dick instead of his thigh, forcing himself to think how beautiful it would be to see him totally desperate just from getting Nolan off—beautiful both in the sense of _winning_ and in the sense of Tyler being really fucking hot like that. Besides, the hand around his dick has tightened and is moving quickly. Trying to keep from moving his hips is getting harder and harder—pun maybe intended, Nolan’s not sure, because he’s putting all his energy into that and not making any obvious noises of arousal, rather than clever wordplay.

He’s pretty sure that Tyler can tell how incredibly turned-on he is, given that his cock is leaking and throbbing a little bit. Nolan has to bite his lip, hard enough that he thinks he might have drawn blood, when Tyler jerks his dick tightly, twisting his hand a little and his face screwed up in concentration. Underneath that, though, is a tinge of smugness that’s entirely too familiar to Nolan.

There’s a distinct possibility that Tyler’s playing the exact same game he is, determined to make him fall apart without showing any interest whatsoever. Of course, if that were the case, it would’ve been a minute-long handjob and then Nolan left tied to the bed.

As it is, Tyler is rubbing against him—minuscule little movements he probably hasn’t even noticed he’s making but that Nolan can feel, close enough to be tantalizing but not enough to really set him off. Not with Tyler’s hand in the way, at least. The hand in question tugs sharply, just on the edge of pain, and Nolan inhales just as sharply, feeling his eyes roll back a little bit.

But losing control—coming before Tyler has completely succumbed to Nolan—means losing this incredibly fucked-up game they’re playing, and he’s really just not willing to do that. Taking a deep breath that he hopes isn’t too obviously meant to calm him, Nolan adjusts his leg so that there’s more pressure against Tyler’s dick, moving it up and down in time with Tyler’s minute thrusts. This time, Tyler is the one who gasps, and Nolan relishes it, sure that his own smugness is showing on his face—especially after Tyler reaches up with one hand and pulls at his nipple so that that it actually _does_ hurt. It’s not a bad pain as such, though, and mostly Nolan just arches into it, the surprising contact too good to resist.

He also presses his leg up even harder, rubbing a little and watching Tyler’s face for any reaction. The one he gets is about as much as he could have hoped; Tyler’s eyes go wider and he bites his lip, all the while grinding onto Nolan’s leg harder.

Stripped of the ability to use his hands, Nolan tries to slide Tyler forward by bending his knees up. Really, he just wants to see what the sensation of their cocks sliding together will do to Tyler’s carefully constructed façade of control. Though there’s some selfish motivation there as well—Nolan’s never pretended to be less of a sensualist than he is, and frankly, letting Tyler slip against him and fist their dicks together sounds heady and wonderful.

The message is clear enough, but Tyler resists, probably clinging to the shreds of control to which Nolan’s about to say good riddance. Tyler’s still jerking him, albeit slowly and erratically; not knowing exactly when the next stroke is going to come somehow makes it more intense, though not in the way that would allow him to come. Unfortunately.

And then Tyler’s sliding forward, just a few inches, and his hips jerk forward hard before he gets some semblance of control on himself. Nolan, however, is more interested in making Tyler fall apart than in seeming composed himself, and for that reason he lets his own hips roll against Tyler’s rhythmically. The first time their dicks slide against each other, not quite wet enough to be smooth, the noise Tyler makes is unlike anything Nolan’s ever heard him say, a soft sound in his throat that might be a whimper; it feels genuinely involuntary.

Nolan keeps going, because if he’s that close, there’s no way he’s stopping before Tyler breaks. A few more steady movements of his hips later, and Tyler’s moving against him, matching his rhythm and breathing heavily. If Nolan had the use of his hands, he’d be pulling Tyler closer, maybe teasing his ass, just to see how quickly he could fall apart. So he lacks that advantage, but at least he can say that it was all Tyler’s initiative to wrap the hand that was jerking Nolan around both of them.

This time, Nolan’s eyes really do roll back a little bit, and the low keening noise he makes is entirely involuntary. Given the effect it has on Tyler, though, he’s not going to complain about that loss of control. Specifically, Tyler’s hand tightens and his movements get jerkier and more erratic, like he’s close—Nolan certainly is, though he’s half-heartedly fighting the urge to arch off the bed. He’s not really wild about indulging Tyler’s little power trip to quite that extent, even though Tyler himself seems too far gone to particularly care about who’s winning—he’s jerking hard at their dicks, his hips rolling into Nolan’s in time with the motion of his hand.

Everything’s going a little fuzzy on the edges and Nolan knows that he can’t hold on much longer, but then Tyler goes tense above him and his back arches a little. Nolan feels the come warm on his stomach and watches Tyler breathing heavily above him. It only takes a few quick strokes of Tyler’s hand against his dick—its motion eased by the come now smeared on them, which, okay, probably helps things along—for Nolan to be seeing white and arching off the bed.

He sinks bonelessly into the mattress, taking deep breaths and unwilling to open his eyes until he feels Tyler climb off him. Then, well, he’s too much of an opportunist to not enjoy the show of Tyler Barrol, conman extraordinare (if a little less extraordinare than Nolan himself) wandering his room naked and clearly post-coital, in search of his clothes. The show of Tyler putting said clothes back on is somewhat less exciting, especially the part right after he’s fully clothed where he stands next to the bed and eyes Nolan contemplatively, like he’s considering not untying him—which, granted, he probably is.

Tyler leans down—for a moment, Nolan thinks he’s going in for a kiss, but that seems somewhat disingenuous, considering the encounter they just had—and speaks low and steady into his ear. “If you ever use this against me in any way, or allow it to be used against me in any way, rest assured that I will have absolutely no qualms about destroying both you and everyone you care about. Just so we’re clear, Ross.”

“As crystal,” Nolan says, fighting the smirk that wants to appear on his face as Tyler unties him.

He lets it show as soon as Tyler walks out the door, because, for all that Tyler thinks he won that round, Nolan’s pretty sure that coercing him back into bed won’t be all that difficult—and that’s definitely a victory for him.


End file.
